


A Friend Of His

by Fenri



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5592055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenri/pseuds/Fenri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Altair gets badly hurt during one of his missions Malik has to go through a lot of trouble to save his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friend Of His

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta and inspiration dealer - Desert Eagle

Malik always was on edge when Altair was in the city. He made a mess, he annoyed him, the very sight of him pissed Malik off. That arrogant bastard, full of himself and thoughtless. Every time he finished his mission he left the city agitated, the streets full of gossip, people and guards wary and suspicious of everything and everyone. But did that dumbo ever think about how much trouble Malik had to go through due to his reckless way of doing things? Malik was ready to bet his remaining arm that the thought never crossed the pighead ’s mind.  
The reason he was so frustrated today was because Altair was, of course, in Jerusalem again. Malik started feeling mad about it ever since he received Al Mualim’s letter informing him of the new mission, so by the time the assassin got to the bureau he was already considerably worked up about the upcoming trouble.   
Altair had arrived three days ago, as sassy and stubborn as usual, and they had had a row right off the bat. Then he left to gather information on his target, and Malik saw very little of him. Although Altair had a remarkable talent at getting on Malik’s nerves even staying out of his sight. The city was already talking about three guards being killed in broad daylight and twice Malik heard the stomping of feet on his roof caused by a person being chased by an infuriated soldier. He had been glad to finally hear Altair’s report the day before and had given him the feather so that they all could be done and through with it at last. Today by the time Malik entered the bureau in the morning Altair was already out. He was only hoping that the stupid novice would not attempt to “make his work known by many” again and went to prepare bandages, clean water, salve, and other medicine – just in case.  
\---  
Malik felt very tense. Four hours passed, but Altair didn’t return, there was no sound of bells, no commotion, nothing. Birds were chirping peacefully in the yard, the citizens were talking, walking around, living their lives – all was too uncomfortably quiet. Altair was not the person to wait long for a perfect opportunity to place a hit. He was way too impatient, way too self-confident. And he was supposed to meet his target two hours ago - the city should be buzzing by now. Malik tried to shake off the tension and went through Altair’s plan in his mind once again. He had to get to the market where his target had planned a meeting. Then he would take down the archers and wait for the person to arrive. Then he would mix with the crowd and strike – then leave quickly, hide and get back to report. Simple enough. What was taking him so long? Malik stood in the doorway leaning against the wall, looking up at the entrance to the bureau, listening intently, waiting to hear the sound of soft footsteps or the ringing of bells, or scared voices – anything. He knew this city well, he knew how to listen to it: any hushed whisper, any rushed footsteps, any unusual silence would tell him the news before anyone gets what happened.   
Half an hour later he couldn’t take it anymore. He took a dagger from the wall, put it under his belt and covered it with his overcoat before leaving the bureau. Of course it was outside of his remit, but he could no longer stay there picturing everything that might go wrong with the stupid novice and his stupid mission.   
Malik made his way towards the market, still listening, scanning the streets for any sign of extra commotion. One of the conversations did catch his attention. A merchant was rambling to some friend of his:   
“... just pushed the guy right at my tent and it all came tumbling down! He didn’t even stop, the bastard! I don’t know who was the lad he was chasing after, but I hope he never catches him! I’m going to the city hall tomorrow too to see if I can get a compensation for destroying my tent…”  
That was strange. The street with the merchant stand did not lead to the market, it led away from it. Of course it could’ve been an accident, but with Altair in the town, there was a 90% chance that he was involved in this. So Malik turned the corner and followed the lead: pieces of a shattered jar on the ground, a knocked over cart, disgruntled voices of people having been pushed… at last he saw a terrified woman running out from an alley, followed by some more concerned people – he was getting closer. Indeed, as he was hurrying down the streets the crowd became more and more agitated. Some were trying to get away, some were edging closer, curious, and everybody was talking.  
“Is there a fight?”  
“Someone was killed!”  
“Who?”  
“Did they catch him?”  
“Really? Have you seen it?!”  
“An assassin you say?”  
Malik gritted his teeth. Stupid novice, no discretion at all! He almost ran now pushing his way through the mob. There was no sound of fight - why there was no fight? Did he manage to escape in the end? Was it silly of Malik to come all the way here like a worried hen?  
“Oh Allah,” he gasped when he got to a church backyard and pulled through the crowd of onlookers. A dozen of guards lay on the ground, dead or growling with pain. Altair was lying in a hip in the middle of it all with two soldiers standing above him. One of them had an injured leg, the other one – a broken nose.  
The one with the broken nose kicked Altair and spat on him cursing. Malik went cold for Altair did not even move a muscle in response.  
“Is he dead?” the other soldier voiced Malik’s worst fear.  
“Nah, can’t you see he’s breathing? So what do we do now?”  
“Take him to the captain, I guess. Maybe he’d want to interrogate him or something.”  
“Interrogate him and claim all the credit for capturing this son of a bitch,” the guard spat again.  
“So what do you suggest?... Kill him?”  
They seemed to consider this option for a minute.  
“No. In case there’s trouble, we’ll be held responsible for this. To hell with this shit, let’s just get him to the captain for now.”   
They hurled Altair up, grabbed him under his arms and dragged him away. Malik bit his lip. All the front of Altair’s clothes was red. ‘Not his blood, can’t be his’ – said a voice inside his head. But the way it was soaked and the way it kept dripping down his robes left no room for doubt: he was badly injured. By the look of it, he could bleed to death within minutes.   
Malik cursed and pulled a hood low over his face, his mind working furiously. It was too risky, he told himself starting to move through the crowd. He couldn’t let himself be seen, he lived in this city, for crying out loud, he couldn’t just make a mess, and then leave for years disappearing from people’s memories. He walked these streets every day. If he is recognized, all his work, all his effort put into this city will go down the gutter. It would be unwise of him to interfere, it would compromise the Brotherhood.   
The guards slowly dragged Altair down the street, one of them limping, yelling at people to get out of their way - not that it was necessary, because everyone made sure to step away from the three of them as they approached.  
Malik kept telling himself that he wasn’t even supposed to be here. He was in charge of the bureau. He had to give the assassins information, provide them with a place to rest and let them do what they had to do. Also, what use could he be with one arm and a knife against two swordsmen? He must. Not. Interfere.   
“Allah damn it, novice, I hate you so much right now,“ he grumbled grasping the dagger. As the crowd around him stepped back, Malik stepped forward instead and with one swift motion jammed the blade into the neck of the broken-nosed guard. The man let out a gurgling noise when he pulled it out again sharply. Then he whirled the knife in his hand getting a better grip, turned on his hill and slid the throat of the second one before he could even turn his head to see what was happening.   
Malik didn’t even bother to take any notice of the people who scattered in all directions with an ear-splitting yell. He kneeled down to Altair who had fallen to the ground and put his ear close to his mouth. He was indeed still breathing, but it was shallow and weak. Malik unstrapped Altair’s leather belts, holding all his weapons to release his chest and ease his breathing, then he untied his sash to inspect the wound. It was an ugly sight, but not as bad as he’d imagined. Still it bled pretty strong. He pressed his hand over the wound. Altair moaned with pain. Apparently now that he could breathe more freely he came back to consciousness.  
“Easy, novice,” Malik said. “I need you to press your hand here. Can you do it?”  
He took the man’s palm and placed it over the wound. But Altair just buried his fingers into his skin, blood gushing through. Useless. Malik threw his hand out of the way, but Altair was still trying to hold his bleeding stomach, and now he was also trying to roll over to his side, growling through gritted teeth.   
“Calm down for a second, will you?!” Malik snapped at him, pulling him on his back again. “I need to get you out of here before more guards arrive. So just give me a minute.”  
He used his sash to make a pressure bandage. It was no easy task for a person with only one arm, but he did his best as fast as he could, pressing the edges of fabric with his knee or pulling on it with his teeth. It was a clumsy work, but it seemed to do what it was supposed to do and stopped the bleeding. It won’t work for long, but it should buy them some time. Not enough time to get to the bureau though which was pretty far from here. Altair did not look like he could manage the distance.   
So where to? Hospitals were out of question, no local doctor would take him home, there were no other assassins in the city, and there won’t be any for a while, his informers won’t agree to be involved in this... Malik felt panic washing over him. Was he just going to see Altair die here, on this dirty street in this damn city? Will he just have to continue living here after that like nothing happened, trying to get this memory out of his mind, getting on with his life like before, knowing full well that he’ll never see this moron barging into his bureau again with his nonsense, noise and arguing? Was he seriously going to just watch all life drain from his scarily pale face, unable to do anything about it?   
Altair coughed and hissed from pain. Malik took a deep breath.  
“It’ll be fine. Let’s just… Let’s take one step at a time. If Allah still hasn’t given up on your pathetic life, we’ll make it. First of all, let’s get you out of here. I’m going to need you to stand up. Come on, novice, grab my shoulder.”  
Altair clawed to his clothes and with some trouble and pained growls Malik managed to get him into a standing position. Slowly they moved out of the place into dark narrow alleys. Altair could hardly move his feet, but they did manage to shuffle off pretty well. Malik even thought that if they keep it up like that, maybe they’d be able to get all the way to the bureau. He had to choose the safe path though, avoid the guards, and avoid drawing attention.  
“I’m sorry,” Altair said suddenly after a while, and Malik felt a cold shiver run down his spine: he never heard the man’s voice sound so pained, weak, and feeble. Perhaps he’d better think of some less safe, but shorter route.   
“I’m sorry,” Altair repeated.  
“Well, you should be.”  
“I… I am truly sorry… Really sorry…” Altair said again and then he just kept mumbling apologies in a low hoarse whisper.  
“Stop it with the “sorry”. Is this some new way to annoy me?” Malik was beginning to feel uncomfortable.  
“I didn’t mean this to happen. I didn’t know, I… truly did not think it will be like that. I am sorry, Kadar, please forgive me…”  
Malik froze on the spot and looked at him.  
“What?”  
“I was wrong and I’m sorry,” Altair kept muttering. By the look on his face it was obvious that he lost all awareness of where he was and what was happening.  
“A-a-and here goes the fever. Great,” Malik sighed. “Snap out of it, novice! It’s too soon for you to meet Kadar just yet. Now move your feet!”  
Altair seemed not to hear him though. He was getting weaker and kept talking to Kadar in his feverish delusion. Malik tried not to listen and ignore his vigorously pounding heart. It was still a sore subject for him and he did not know how to feel about what he had just heard, and if it was even worth paying attention to – anyway now was not the time to think about it.   
Soon Altair’s voice ceased to an inarticulate gibberish and then died off completely. Malik was thinking fast: they didn’t even make a third of the distance they had to cover, and the time was obviously running out. A minute later he felt Altair’s grip on his shoulder slack and his body go limp.   
“Oh no, you don’t!” Malik protested while sitting him down on the ground, leaning his back against a wall. “Hey, novice! Altair! Don’t you leave me here alone! You hear me?” he slapped his cheek carefully, but got no response. “Shit,” Malik looked around desperately and noticed a rain water barrel. He ran towards it looking for a piece of cloth to soak in it, but unable to find any he just dipped his sleeve in the barrel, then leaned in and got a mouthful of cool rusty-flavored water. He then returned to Altair, kneeled down before him, opened his mouth with his thumb and pushed the water through his lips into his throat. He saw him swallow and damped his face and neck with the wet sleeve. One long moment later Altair blinked slowly.   
“There we go,” Malik heard himself say in a strained voice and tried to clear his throat which felt like a huge lump got stuck in it hurting him. “Let’s get going. Just don’t pass out on me again, okay? Don’t you fucking dare do that! I know it’s hard and I know you’re tired, but you’re just gonna have to make an effort. You understand?”  
Altair nodded.  
“I’m cold,” he said.  
“I bet you are. What did you expect after losing so much blood?”  
Malik took off his overcoat and wrapped it around shivering Altair. He then crouched down beside him, threw both his arms over his own shoulders, pressed them hard to his chest and stood up grunting, with Altair’s body hanging heavily on his back and the man’s head rolling onto his shoulder.  
“You all right there?”  
“…Yeah.”  
“Good... You know what? Talk to me so that I know you’re still here. Just keep saying things. Like what happened to your mission?”  
“I… killed him.”  
“It does not look like it went according to plan, though. So tell me.”  
Even though Altair was heavy, Malik was able to move faster now. He had to give up the plan about walking through the dark alleys and decided in favor of shortcuts to the bureau, which included moving through the busy streets. He didn’t like the idea of drawing attention, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to convince himself that they should be fine if he keeps to the shaded side of the road and avoid city guards.   
He made Altair talk for as long as he could, asking him questions although the man gave him mostly short one-word replies. Still he managed to gather from him what had happened. Apparently Altair got to the market and took down the archers as planned, but when his target arrived, he noticed the absence of the said archers, got suspicious and left immediately disappearing from sight before the assassin could get close enough. Altair then switched his attention to the person his target was supposed to have a meeting with. He saw a woman approach him and take him aside. Altair followed them from a safe distance to a big house in the rich part of the city. He then climbed a wall and sneaked inside, but this man managed to escape again, alerting all the guards in the neighborhood this time. His mistake was not to rely on the soldiers to protect him, but to run for his life. Altair broke through the guards and chased after him. He managed to tackle him and place a hit with his hidden blade several blocks later, but his attack was noticed by the city patrol. He tried to run, but was cornered behind the church where Malik found him later.  
Altair had great difficulty talking, but the effort kept him conscious and Malik made him go through the story twice before the man stopped replying to him and went silent. Malik felt Altair’s breath on his neck, hot, wet, and spastic, mixed with pained moans and grunts.   
“Just hold on a little more, we’re almost there,” Malik kept lying to him, knowing that they have barely covered half the distance. He was nervous for they were drawing too much attention now. Most people glanced at them and preferred to turn away, but some were staring and whispering.   
Altair was delirious again. This time he seemed to be talking to Al-Mualim, demanding some answers from him and arguing about something. Malik did not have time to listen. He heard the approaching city patrol before he saw them. He pursed his lips and looked around, then dragged Altair in the shadow behind some merchant’s tent. He sat him down on some box and stood before him, screening the man from view. Not that it would help a lot: Malik looked just as messed up with blood stains all over him, shivering from fatigue and stress. Still he stood there in front of Altair, teeth gritted, dagger clasped in his hand so strong that his fingers hurt.   
To his relief the guards marched past them in a hurry, led by some excited little girl who was running in front of them showing the way. They never looked around. Malik relaxed and sighed deeply, which made his body shake even more. He fell on his knees before Altair to pull himself together for a minute, for his legs were bending, his back hurt. Malik looked up. Altair was very quiet, except for his breath that was hoarse and shallow. His face turned grey. He didn’t even moan from pain any more.  
“Altair?” Malik called quietly, squeezing the man’s knee. “Can you hold on a little longer?”  
There was no reply. Malik bit his lip. No way in hell they could make it to the bureau. With a heavy heart he reached out to fix the sash that was holding his wound when a voice close behind him called out:  
“Hey! What are you doing?”  
Malik gulped, took his knife again and stood up slowly before turning around. Five men were standing before him. They were not soldiers. The one that was standing in front of the rest looked at him angrily with his arms crossed.  
“What do you want with this man?” he asked again sharply.  
“This man is injured, he needs help,” Malik replied, not quite understanding what was happening.  
The man looked him up and down.  
“Are you a friend of his?”  
“You can say that.”  
The man switched his gaze to Altair.  
“Boy, that kid does look terrible, indeed he can use some help... You can bring him to my house if you need.”  
“What? Really?!”  
“Yeah, and I’ll get the doctor.”  
Malik could hardly believe his ears.  
“B-but who are you, why are you helping us?”  
“I owe this kid. He saved my sister, a total stranger, mind you. And my family always returns debts, whatever those bloody soldiers may say about it.”  
“Thank you. I will take you up on your offer then. We really need some help,” Malik was surprised, confused and unsure if he should trust strangers, but what better choice did he have? Right now he was just too relieved that Altair apparently won’t die on a street like a dog.  
He watched two men pick Altair up carefully and followed them to a small house almost by the city wall.   
“You said something about the doctor,” Malik remembered. “Is he a trusted person?”  
“As trusted as it gets. He’s just a regular doctor, living nearby. He seems to be good, though. I don’t know what you mean by ‘trusted’.”  
“Don’t call him,” Malik said firmly. “I think the guards will be looking for my friend tonight. They know he’s injured, a lot of people saw it, so they’ll be searching the city, and doctors are their first call.”  
“Oh,” said their host in a changed voice.   
“Yes, there is a chance that they will be searching people’s houses too,” Malik confessed after a minute’s hesitation. “Do you have anywhere to hide him if they come to you?”  
“No, actually, umm…“ the man was obviously getting second thoughts about his kindliness.   
“He’ll definitely die if you send him away now,” Malik added quickly. “Please let us stay for tonight and tomorrow. I know how to treat wounds, I’ll take care of him until then, and we’ll leave tomorrow night.”  
The man glanced at Altair lying on a narrow wooden bed by the wall, rubbed his chin and sighed.   
“All right, you can stay. God, I hate those soldiers, curse them all,” he went on swearing and left to talk to his friends who were waiting outside.  
Malik then turned to Altair. There was a woman sitting on a chair beside him.   
“Are you a friend of this person?” she asked when he approached after greeting her.  
“I suppose I am.”  
“He is a good man. It’s good that he has friends who care about him. Are you a doctor?”  
“No, but I know what I’m doing. Can I ask you for some clean water and bandages? Oh, and a needle with a thread.”   
\---  
All these years of patching assassins up and hammering at books on medicine did not go to waste.  
It took Malik several hours to clean Altair’s wounds, stich them up, and cover with bandages. The woman was helping him, not showing any emotion at the sight of blood or naked body. Malik accepted her help gratefully without asking any questions.   
Altair’s skin was hot to the touch with his fever getting higher. It was not the first time Malik was tending to his wounds, but he noticed some new scars that hadn’t been there before. Absent-mindedly he wondered how he had got them and who had been treating them for him.  
The fever worried him as much as the excessive loss of blood. The problem was that the family who sheltered them was poor, they had no medicine whatsoever. Malik had to go and get some.  
“Put out all the lights and do not open the door to anyone but me,” he said to the man and his sister. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Please keep changing his compresses to keep the fever down and make sure he drinks water.”  
“What if the soldiers come while you’re away?” the man asked. He was positively frightened that Malik was leaving, even though he could barely recommend himself as a good protection against soldiers considering he only had one arm.  
“If the solders come, keep quiet and pretend you’re not here.“  
“What if they break down the door?”  
“Run,” Malik said with a sigh, pulling his hood over his face and stepping outside.  
\---  
The sun has already set when he left, and now it was totally dark when he was coming back. The streets were deserted and it was easy to avoid patrols with their torches and grumpy voices. Malik ran for the last couple of blocks. The house looked completely dark and deserted. He knocked on the door.  
“It’s me.”  
There was a quiet shuffling and the door opened just a crack. Malik slid inside and shut the door behind him again.  
“How is he?”  
“The fever’s getting worse,” the woman said.  
“That’s OK. Please pass me a glass of water.”   
Malik put down the bag he had brought with him and searched for a little phial in it in the dim light coming through the semi-closed window shutters. He added just a few drops to the water and approached Altair with it.   
“Hey, novice, drink this, you’ll feel better,” he said putting a clay mug to his lips, but as soon as Altair tasted it, he shuddered in a fit of coughing and tried to push his hand away.  
“Now, don’t be a baby! I know it’s quite bitter, but it can’t be that bad. You’ve got to drink it all! Come on! Drink!”   
Malik wasn’t really sure if Altair could actually hear him, but he drank the medicine obediently. Malik was relieved to see that the man was strong enough to try and fight him off. Indeed, he was weak as a kitten, but at least he had the strength to move his limbs. His skin was burning hot though.   
Malik carefully took off his bandages. The wound on his stomach was starting to bleed again.   
“See what you did with all your coughing? Damn you, novice, you’ll be the death of me,” he grumbled and procured a jar of salve from the bag. He used the salve on the wound, hoping it will be enough to fight off the infection. Nobody was helping him to change the bandages this time, but it wasn’t the first time Malik took care of wounds, so he managed fine even though he worked slow.   
It was late night when he finished, Altair’s breathing eased, he stopped sweating and moaning and fell asleep. For the first time today Malik allowed himself to relax. At once he felt just how dead tired he was. His every muscle was tense, the whole body hurt. He sat down on the floor, rested his head on the side of Altair’s bed and closed his eyes, listening to him breathe.   
He did not manage to rest for long. The approaching voices and the stomping from outside shook off his dizziness half an hour later. The man who sheltered them and his sister entered the room too, apparently disturbed by the noise. Malik got up and closed all the windows shut.  
“Stay quiet,” he told them and picked up his sword which he had brought with him. One arm or not, he used to be one of the best swordsmen in the Brotherhood back in his day.  
They stood there in a complete darkness for a while until they saw the light of a torch crawl inside through the cracks around the door and window shutters.   
“Open the door to the city guards!” a voice ordered, knocking loudly. “Open up! We are looking for an escaped criminal!” They waited for a reply and knocked some more.  
“I think there is nobody here,” said the same voice quieter after a while.  
“Well, the windows are shut, I can’t see inside. But it does look like it.”   
“Shall we break down the door to make sure?”   
“I guess so. Yeah.”  
Malik gripped the handle of his sword tighter. The first hit made the whole house shudder, the flimsy door won’t take another one. He took a deep breath and prepared to strike. The element of surprise will give him enough time to take down one or two soldiers and then he’ll just…  
“What the hell is going on here?!” came the yell from somewhere up the street.  
“Sir, it seems that nobody’s here, or at least nobody’s replied and…”  
“And you decided to break down the door?!”  
“Well, we have to check, don’t we?”  
“Let me ask you a question: will you be the one explaining to the city council why the soldiers break into civilians’ houses late at night?” the voice was obviously extremely annoyed.  
“Umm…”  
“Did it ever cross your mind that there might just not be anyone there?”  
“But…”  
“Just leave it and move on!” the person yelled. “I don’t have all night, wasting it with you, you bunch of stupid morons!”  
There was a sound of hurried footsteps and the torchlight shred away quickly.  
“Like I have nothing better to do than scamper around the city all night long as some…” - the voice of their savior faded away as he left too.  
“Well. That was lucky,” said Malik when everything went quiet again. He opened one of the windows carefully, letting in some of the moonlight.  
The man and his sister were clutched together in a corner.  
“It’s OK now,” Malik told them, putting his sword aside.  
“Well, yeah, actually it’s not,” said the man, rubbing his neck. “I think you both should leave. In the morning. It’s too dangerous and I can’t let you stay here another day.”   
Malik was somewhat expecting to hear that, but still he begged:  
“Please, let us stay one more day. He can’t be moved right now, he’s too weak for that. I’ll figure out how to get him from here during the day and we’ll be out in the evening, when there are fewer people on the streets.”  
But the man shook his head.  
“No. I can’t allow that. I have people coming into my house every day and if somebody says that they saw us together yesterday… Besides I have a sister I need to protect… And your friend looks much better then when you first brought him here, so…”  
“I understand.” Malik put his hand on Altair’s forehead to check his fever. “I’ll think of something and we’ll be out in the morning.”  
\---  
Early in the morning, when the city began to stir, awoken by the first rays of sun, Malik slipped outside with no real plan in mind. He walked through the streets for a while when the plan came by in a form of a round-faced farmer boy with a horse-drawn wagon. Obviously, the kid had brought some vegetables to the market and now was going back home. Malik approached him, trying not to scare him off with his rather ragged appearance after the sleepless night of tending to his patient. Having convinced the kid that it’s not dangerous or illegal and that he’d be doing a good thing, he managed to convince him to hide Altair in his wagon and get him to where he needed, the winning argument being the amount of money Malik offered for the job.  
So Altair was safely placed on straw in the wagon, and they left their benefactors, who looked embarrassed, when Malik thanked them slipping a coin into the man’s hand, but relieved that they were leaving anyway.   
“That person must be very dear to you,” the woman told him.   
“What? Why?”  
“Nobody would do so much for someone less than a brother.”  
“He’s not my brother. Not in the way you mean it.”  
“I supposed so. You do not look alike. But he must be as important to you.”  
“He isn’t,” Malik said sharply. “And we are in no way alike.”  
Maybe he said it because he was tired, but now Malik regretted saying that in such a rude manner. She was definitely wrong though. He was doing it because it was his duty as the head of the bureau. Well, maybe not to this extend, but Altair was important to Al-Mualim’s plans, the Brotherhood needed him. Well, true, Malik’s actions over the last twenty-four hours were close to compromising the Brotherhood, but his conscience did not allow him to abandon someone in a state like that. He was just acting in the moment, one step at a time. Allah knows Malik hated Altair’s guts. But still he did not want to see him die. That’s all.  
Soon they arrived to the house where Malik lived. He thought it unwise to lead the boy to the bureau, so that was the only other option really. He lived in a small building not far from the bureau. He did not particularly like the place, but it did not matter, for he spent most of his time in the office. Basically he only came here to sleep, and also used the place as a storage area. The only room was always dark with curtains drawn. Books were stacked right on the floor along the walls, ruined robes that needed to be mended or thrown away occupied the only chair; the table was littered with more books, feathers, parchment, and rolls of maps, thrown over some dishes; the wardrobe was opened, the clothes in disorder; some broken weapons waited on a wooden chest for Malik to decide if he could get them to the smith and have them fixed, or was it not worth the trouble. The only bed was usually unmade and now it was occupied by Altair.   
Suddenly the mess was annoying Malik, now that he would need to spend more time here. He felt the urge to tidy up, but he needed to take care for the wounded assassin first.  
As Malik was afraid, Altair did not handle the moving well. His fever was high again, he was raving unconsciously. Malik took off his bandages. The wound was not bleeding, but it looked swollen and the skin around it turned red. He sighed heavily and went to fetch clean water. There was a lot to do.  
\---  
Malik had not slept properly for five days now. For the first two days Altair’s fever would not go down and he couldn’t leave his side even for a minute, changing compresses, making him drink the medicine, changing bandages and applying salve to the wound, feeding him gruel, rubbing him with wet towels… On the third day the man finally fought off the fever. Malik relaxed a bit and almost dozed off with his head rested on the table when a thought flashed through his mind – a thought about seriously ill people who suddenly felt much better for a short period right before they died. That scared the hell out of him and he couldn’t sleep a wink, sitting by Altair’s bed and doing nothing, but watching him, listening to his breathing, looking for any signs of change. For the whole next night Altair was quiet and still alive, his fever did not return, his wound looked better, but he was still unconscious. Malik stopped giving him the medicine from the little flask, and on the fourth day Altair opened his eyes.  
Malik was changing his bandage again when he saw the man blink slowly and turn the gaze towards him.  
“It’s good to have you back,” said Malik calmly, unable of any emotion at this point of time. “Do you recognize me?”  
“Malik,” Altair said in a weak husky voice. He fell asleep soon after.   
He woke up again several hours later, when Malik was washing some bandages in a washbasin. He tried to speak, but had to clear his throat first.  
“Where am I?”  
“In my house. I couldn’t get you to the bureau, it was too dangerous.”  
“How long?”  
“Four or five days.”  
There was a silence.  
“I… don’t remember much after the assassination.”  
“I’ll tell you this story later. Right now I need you to heal up and get the hell out of my sight.”  
“The feather…”  
“Yeah, I saw it. Although it’s left somewhere in the city with all your gear.”  
“What?”  
“Well, I’m sorry, I did not feel like dragging all that junk with your dying ass on my back.”  
This time the silence was so long that Malik thought that Altair had fallen asleep again.  
“You came to get me,” he said in a while. “You shouldn’t have come for me, Dai.”  
“Knowing you, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to regret it.”   
“I’m surprised. I’d never have thought you’d come for me.”   
Malik did not reply.  
“You look terrible,” Altair observed next.  
“Look who’s talking,” Malik left the washbasin and got to cooking.  
“I occupy the only bed you have. Where did you sleep?”  
“I didn’t.”  
“For five days?”  
“Aren’t you talking a bit too much for a person who’s just been dying?“ Malik rounded on him.  
“Why did you do this? I thought you wanted me dead.”   
“I don’t.”  
“You don’t?”  
“No.”   
“I thought you hated me.”  
“I thought so, too.”  
Altair said nothing until Malik took a bowl and a spoon and sat on a chair by his bed.   
“I do not understand…” Altair mumbled uncertainly with his gaze fixed on him.  
“Well, that’s because you’re stupid. Now eat this, novice.”


End file.
